“So Nigel will take the news back to Goffard Hall—to Mrs. Kirkpatrick? Or is it his sister who meets Hardcastle in the woods?” Toby asked.
Drake looked at Christopher and arched his brows. “You’re the only one who’s met both women.”
“My money’s on Mrs. Kirkpatrick,” Christopher said. “But regardless, we’ll learn who comes to pick up the counterfeit notes tonight.” He waved toward the horses. “Our next step is to return to the manor and get our package of ‘counterfeit notes’ ready.”
Granger and the grooms went ahead. Following with Drake and Toby, Christopher picked his way through the woods to his mount.
They entered the library to discover that not only were Louisa and Ellen there ahead of them, they’d also brought a stack of Sir Humphrey’s old editions of The Times and were sitting on either side of the desk, busily cutting up the sheets to make stacks the same size as banknotes—counterfeit or genuine.
Finding themselves with nothing to do—the ladies were closing in on the required amount without their help—the three men subsided into armchairs.
“So.” Ellen looked up from her industrious snipping and fixed all three with an inquiring look. “Who came? I assume someone did.”
“Nigel,” Christopher replied.
“He rode up the lane around the green,” Toby said, “glanced over the church wall at the graveyard, saw the wildflowers on the right grave, smiled to himself, and rode off in great good humor, apparently straight to Goffard Hall to report.”
“We’ll be able to confirm his arrival there via the watchers keeping an eye on the place.” Drake looked at Christopher. “It would be wise to keep a diary of any movements we see, in case, later, any of the players try to weasel their way out of being charged by claiming they weren’t where we say they were.”
Christopher nodded. “We’ve been keeping a record of any sightings, just in case something slipped past us.”
“There!” Louisa put down the scissors she’d been wielding and compressed the stack of “notes” she’d assembled on the desktop. “That should do it, don’t you think?”
She’d addressed the question to Ellen, who looked, then nodded and glanced at the three other stacks they had ready and waiting. “I think we’ve actually got more than we need, but better that than less. We’ll have to get the counterfeit notes out and match everything up.”
“Indeed. And”—Louisa swung to face the men—“that brings us to another thing that will need to match. Namely, Hardcastle. Ellen pointed out that whoever comes to fetch the notes at midnight will expect to see Hardcastle.” She eyed the men’s faces. “We didn’t discuss it last night, but do we want to trust Hardcastle to lure into our net whoever turns up?”
Drake pulled a horrendous face. “No. We don’t.” He looked at Christopher and Toby. “The ladies are right—no matter how cooperative Hardcastle has been, we can’t afford to trust him to act as we need, not at this crucial stage.”
Toby arched his brows. “But is it necessary for Hardcastle or anyone to get close to the lady? Surely if a lady turns up at midnight in the place appointed for the handover, that will be proof enough of her involvement.”
Drake inclined his head. “Proof enough for us, but not, I fear, leverage enough to pressure her into telling us all she knows, then agreeing to play along and continue with the card parties and so on, until such time as the mastermind shows his face.” He paused, tipping his head. “If we’re lucky, she might even know who the mastermind is, but without having something unequivocal to hold over her to enforce her cooperation, I suspect that merely catching her at midnight in the woods isn’t going to yield what we need.”
“For instance,” Louisa said, “if we merely catch her there—cloaked and veiled in those woods at midnight—she might claim to be waiting to meet someone quite different, or that she was blackmailed into being there and has no idea what any of it is about, or invent some other story to explain her presence.”
“No matter how odd it might be, being cloaked and veiled in a wood at midnight isn’t a crime,” Ellen pointed out.
“We need,” Drake said, steepling his fingers before his face, “to catch her—presumably Mrs. Kirkpatrick—with the counterfeit notes in her hands. At least some of the notes, if not all. That will give us the hold over her we need to set a trap for the mastermind.”
Toby grimaced. “I stand corrected.”
“All right,” Christopher said. “So we’re going to have to find someone who can impersonate Hardcastle well enough to pass muster, at least in the churchyard at midnight.”
“We can’t count on it being cloudy and dark,” Ellen said. “It wasn’t last night, and the sky is just as clear today.”
Drake swung around to look at his wife and Ellen, both still seated at the desk. “You two know what your sex is likely to look for in terms of recognizing someone at night. What characteristics does our substitute Hardcastle absolutely need to have?”
Both ladies frowned in thought.
“Whichever lady comes,” Ellen said, “assuming she’s the one who came before, this will be the fourth time she’s met Hardcastle like this—in the woods at midnight.”
“She’ll recognize his outline,” Louisa said. “And the way he walks.”
“Luckily”—Ellen looked at Drake—“after their first meeting, Hardcastle and the lady haven’t exchanged words. If they’d been in the habit of speaking, that would have made things difficult.”
Drake nodded. “So we need a man with a similar build and gait to Hardcastle, dressed in clothes Hardcastle might wear, with hair and coloring good enough to pass on a moonlit night.” He looked at Christopher. “Can you think of anyone who could pass for Hardcastle in build? The other traits can be faked, but build and even gait is hard to alter given we have only hours until midnight.”
Christopher’s brows faintly rose. “Let me think.”
The library door opened, and Pendleby walked in. “Luncheon is served, sir.”
“Thank you, Pendleby.” Along with the others, Christopher rose.
Ellen and Louisa led the way to the dining room with the three men trailing behind. They arranged themselves about the dining table in an informal pattern, with Christopher, Ellen, and Drake on one side of the rectangular table, facing Louisa and Toby, seated on the other side.
Christopher waited until they’d all served themselves from the platters of sliced meats, bread, and fruits and had settled to eat before suggesting, “The leader of the local band of gypsies, Aaron, has a very similar build to Hardcastle. Similar height, similar stature. In suitable clothes, I think he would pass well enough.”
Ellen swallowed and glanced at Christopher. “Aaron’s hair is blacker than Hardcastle’s, which is browny gray.” She looked at Louisa. “But that’s easy to fix with a little powder, especially for viewing in moonlight.”
Louisa nodded. “But what about hairstyle? Any woman would notice that, even in moonlight.”